


(be)longing

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Demisexual Keith (Voltron), Fist Fights, Hurt/Comfort, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) Friendship, Keith (Voltron) Has Abandonment Issues, M/M, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Injuries, One-Sided Attraction, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pre-Kerberos Mission, Pre-Relationship, Prophetic Dreams, Sexual Fantasy, Sparring, Stargazing, Trust Issues, Trust Kink, Underage Masturbation, Wet Dream, for now....in the future shiro kisses him a lot ok, implied anyway, keith is 16/17 and shiro is 22/23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: Objectively, Keith has always known Junior Officer Takashi Shirogane is hot. He has eyes.





	(be)longing

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write Pre-Kerb Pining & Sexual/Romantic Awakening!Keith for awhile, so this is that! Also I get emo about Pre-Kerb!Shiro. He's doing his best ;-;
> 
> Note, if throughout this story you start to wonder, "hey, is that some weird galra puberty soul bond stuff?" the answer is Probably Yes. I wanted it to be more implied because Keith himself has no darn clue he's half-alien, poor guy. Also note that there is no underage sex in this & Shiro is a good guy who at this point only sees Keith as a friend, but heed the tags if you're worried!

Objectively, Keith has always known Junior Officer Takashi Shirogane is hot. He has eyes.

But it certainly wasn’t love at first sight. Keith doesn’t believe in that, just as he doesn’t believe that other people have his best interests in mind most of the time, if ever. 

Shiro does, though. It’s taken a while, but Keith knows that now. Somehow, Shiro really does just want to help him succeed, to help him create for himself the life, the future, he deserves. Keith didn’t think he deserved that until Shiro. Keith is used to taking what he wants from life, or maybe stealing would be a better word. It isn’t much – just enough to get by. 

Then Shiro appeared, standing in front of the class in that boring, stuffy classroom with a big goofy grin on his face as he talked about impossible things. Keith hadn’t listened. Kids like him didn’t become pilots at the Galaxy Garrison. Kids like him didn’t become anything but angry at the world.

And he would have been one of those kids, if not for Shiro. Keith understands that with painful certainty. For a while, he hated Shiro for it, just a little. He hates owing anyone anything. He told Shiro this, once, and like Shiro could read his mind – hell, maybe he could, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if the guy had superpowers – he had frowned and said, “Keith, you don’t owe me. This isn’t about debts, okay? It’s about…” 

He trails off then, gazing out at the desert, at the setting sun over the rocky mesas and jagged mountains. “Leveling the playing field,” he suggests. Keith leans forward, intrigued despite himself. Shiro shrugs. “I guess it’s just not fair, right? It’s not fair that some kids have smooth sailing and some kids...well, we don’t get that.”

That was the first day Keith allowed himself to look,  _ really _ look, at Shiro. It was easy to think of him as an older guy, just another irritating adult too concerned with rules and consequences, when they had first met. Not so easy now that they ride hoverbikes into the middle of the desert with each other at sunset. 

They’re friends – that’s what Shiro means by it, anyway. He’s trying to level the playing field. But with a hot shame that simmers under Keith’s skin, suffusing his body with more warmth than he can blame on the sun, Keith wonders how it would be if Shiro meant something else by these stolen moments on the cliff’s edge. Something not so innocent as friendship.

Shiro clears his throat, face pink. “Uh, Keith?”

Keith’s been staring for too long. He looks away furiously and hunches his shoulders, heart pounding. “Sorry,” he snaps, hoping his voice isn’t as breathy as he thinks it is. “I just –” He frowns at his knobby knees, folded to his chest. Sixteen and still scrappy and awkward. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.

Shiro reaches out hesitantly and squeezes his shoulder. Keith’s entire body locks up at the contact. He hopes the sunset hides his reddening face. Shiro murmurs, “Hey. Listen to me?”

He says it like a question. Always like a question, not a command, not an expectation for Keith to meet. Just a suggestion. A plea, almost, like he knows Keith's attention is not something easily earned.

Keith listens.

“We don’t have to talk about you,” Shiro says, chin in hand, “but at the risk of sounding super cheesy, I want you to know that I get it. At least some of it.”

“Some of what?” Keith’s voice is barely a whisper.

Shiro’s mouth twists. “Some of what it’s like to be at a...disadvantage. To feel like the world’s against you.”

Keith furrows his brow. “The world’s not against you,” he says. “You’re the Garrison’s top student. Everyone knows that.”

“For now,” Shiro chuckles, looking away. There’s more there, but he doesn’t want to say it, and Keith won’t press him. “Someday, hopefully, you’ll beat me.”

Keith huffs. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Shiro leans back with a crooked smile. “It is. You’ve got serious potential, Keith. You could do it – I know you could.”

Keith ducks his head. “Why’re you so sure of that, huh?”

“Birds of a feather.” Shiro pats his shoulder again, then pulls away. “I just have a feeling.”

“Let’s hope I don’t let you down, then,” Keith sighs.

Shiro looks at him, the sun reflected in his eyes. “You could never let me down, Keith.”

In the dying daylight, his face is defined with a golden glow and stark shadows, darkening his strong jaw and the easy arch of his brows. His black hair is tousled by the wind, and his leather jacket stretches taut over his broad shoulders and chest. In the hollow of his tanned throat, where thick tendons dip down into softness, Keith can see the shine of sweat. For the first time in his life, Keith is struck with the sudden and overwhelming urge to press his lips to someone else’s skin. 

He presses his knees tighter together and croaks, “Glad to hear it.”

He’s quiet on the ride back. If Shiro notices, he doesn’t say anything. He’s nice that way.

*

It is on that fateful night that Keith becomes unable to ignore the fact that Junior Officer Takashi Shirogane, better known as Shiro, the biggest nerd Keith’s ever met and tentatively his best friend, is hot. 

This in and of itself would not be an issue. There are plenty of objectively hot people at the Garrison, and Keith doesn’t care. But Shiro is not just hot. He’s also kind, and funny, and smart, and, oh yeah, Keith’s best friend and the reason the Garrison even let him into their academy. 

He’s also really,  _ really _ hot. It doesn’t take long before Keith finds himself in crisis mode.

It’s an accident when he sees Shiro shirtless in the gym. It’s not an accident when Keith accepts a blissfully unaware Shiro’s invitation to learn some wrestling moves –  _ apparently Shiro knows how to wrestle, too, because why the fuck would the Universe start giving Keith a break now _ – and ends up pinned under Shiro’s straining body, stomach to the mat, so hard in his gym shorts that he actually thinks his dick is going to break.

Shiro moves off of him, offering him a hand like his heaving, muscled chest isn’t something straight out of...well, Keith’s never really had fantasies until  _ this very second,  _ but he’s sure Shiro’s chest would be part of them, if he had. Keith didn’t even know nipples could look as pretty as Shiro’s do. Pretty nipples. What the _ fuck.  _ His brain is short-circuiting.

Keith probably looks like a very winded, very horny fish, gaping and staring up at Shiro goggle-eyed, because Shiro’s grin falls and he leans down next to him, concerned. “Oh, shit – you good? Sorry if I went too hard on you.”

Ha, ha. Hard. Keith grits his teeth, wills his dick to calm the fuck down, and hauls himself upright. “I’m fine,” he says. “Totally – fine.”

Shiro still doesn’t look convinced. He does his suspicious squint. “Yeah? You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

Something is definitely up and Keith can  _ definitely not _ talk to Shiro about this one. “Uh-huh,” he wheezes. “I’ve gotta – go. Uh. Bye.”

Keith scrambles to his feet and out of the gym as fast as he can. Shiro stares after him, bemused, then shrugs and towels off his sweaty hair. 

*

Keith starts taking cold showers and avoiding Shiro. This proves to be a less difficult task than expected — Shiro respects it and doesn’t ask questions when Keith says he would rather be alone, probably because he knows it’s the truth. 

Some of the teachers and officers probably think it’s sad that Keith doesn’t have many, if any, friends. But Keith likes it that way. People...confuse him. And if the other kids are intimidated of him or just plain dislike him, Keith’s not shedding any tears over it. When he’s alone, he thinks more clearly.

This is both a blessing and a curse, as it turns out, because all too often his thoughts wander to Shiro.

Truth is, Keith doesn’t know many details about Shiro’s life, just like Shiro doesn’t know much about his. They never sat down and exchanged backstories. They don’t roll like that. Keith knows Shiro in his nuances. He knows which one of Shiro’s smiles is genuine, which is dangerous, and which is strained, polite, and 100% fake. He knows Shiro always uses the first smile with him. 

He can read Shiro’s eyebrow wiggles from across a room, a skill which annoys Matt to no end. 

He knows Shiro’s favorite superhero is Captain America. He’s teased Shiro about that, but only gently, because he’s also seen the way Shiro’s eyes light up around those comic books. He knows Shiro is a huge nerd. He knows they’re both huge nerds who can talk about huge nerd shit for hours on end. Shiro was the one who got Keith into Star Trek – he’s vaguely aware that his dad liked the original series, but Keith had never seen it until Shiro. 

He knows Shiro is an introvert forced to wear an extrovert’s mask at the Garrison, and after long days of leading endless groups of cadets or other junior officers in training and bonding exercises and recruitment – because he’s a good leader, that’s no mask – Shiro wants nothing more than to curl up on his couch alone and eat Fruit by the Foot in peace. 

Personally, Keith prefers Doritos, but he can get behind the sentiment. He and Shiro really are birds of a feather, even if it isn’t apparent to most. They understand each other, and Keith isn’t used to that. 

When Keith shuts down, Shiro waits it out, doesn’t press him, only nudges if need be. When Keith gets angry, Shiro doesn’t yell back at him or tell him to calm down. He listens. If he isn’t feeling up to going to class some days, Shiro doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand an explanation. He just helps Keith get it together, figure out a way to make it work. 

And when one day, when Keith couldn’t leave his bed, stayed curled under his sheets listening to the rain on the window and the distant fire truck sirens which were long gone but still echoed in his ears, he willed himself to text Shiro because he knew Shiro would understand him when he said,

_ i don’t think i can be alone right now. _

When Keith is alone, he may think more clearly, but this is a bad thing when he’s thinking about bad things.

Shiro met him on the Garrison rooftop that morning, fifteen minutes after Keith hit  _ send. _ Keith didn’t ask how he got out of his junior officer duties. What mattered is that Shiro was there. 

What matters is that when Shiro makes promises, he keeps them. 

Keith wasn’t used to that either, but he was glad for it. More glad than he could say. So he didn’t say anything, up there on the rooftop. He just leaned into Shiro’s side and looked out at the desert with him.

“Bad dreams?” Shiro asked, head tilted down to him slightly, tone light.

“Mm.” Keith stealthily breathed in the scent of Shiro’s gray jacket, the musky-sweet smell of soap, detergent, and something uniquely  _ Shiro. _ Keith didn’t remember the last time he memorized someone’s smell, and then he did remember, and his small smile fell off his face.

Shiro wrapped an arm around him, loose, uncertain. They don’t really hug, much. Probably it’s against regulation or something. But Shiro knows when Keith needs touch, and when he doesn’t. He needed it, then. 

They’re little touches. Offerings, never demands. This is why Keith lets Shiro give them to him, something he has not allowed most of the people who drift in and out of his life.

Keith inhaled, exhaled. Inhaled, nose still tucked against the fabric. “My dad died today,” he said, like he was talking about the weather. That day, it was cloudy. It was supposed to rain. It never rained. By the end of the day, Keith couldn’t tell what was cloud and what was smoke. It was all gray, smothering.

“Oh,” Shiro said quietly. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah. Me too.”

“How long ago?” Shiro asked, even quieter.

Keith blew out air between his teeth in a low whistle. “Six years. I was ten.”

Shiro’s arm tightened around him, just a little. Just enough. “Too young,” he said, half to himself.

“Don’t think fire really cares about stuff like that,” Keith pointed out. “But, yeah. It was a while ago. You’d think it would get easier, the longer it is since he left, but…” His voice broke, shaky. “The more time that passes, the more I forget about him. This morning, I almost forgot what his face looked like. How fucked up is that?”

“Pretty fucked up,” Shiro agreed. “Do you have, y’know, pictures of him? That might help.”

“A few,” Keith sighed, “but they’re just...pictures.” He looked up at Shiro. “Is it dumb that I miss him?”

Shiro’s brow lowered. “Of course not, Keith. Who told you that was dumb?”

Keith shrugged again, hunching his shoulders.  _ Lots of people,  _ he didn’t say.  _ The other kids. The foster parents. The social workers. Too many people. _

“It’s not dumb,” Shiro promised. “Not at all.”

Keith swallowed. “You don’t think I should just – get over it already?”

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, “nobody who says they’re ‘over’ something like this is ever really over it. They just...shove it down, hide it, until it messes them up inside, gets worse. Don’t do that, okay? You don’t need to do that. It’s okay to grieve, Keith. It’s okay to miss him and want to remember him. That’s part of healing when you lose a loved one. And sure, grieving can suck, but it’s not dumb. Anyone who says so is wrong, and has shit they need to sort out. Okay?”

Keith’s lower lip trembled. He covered his face and whispered, “I did –  _ do _ – love him. My dad. I really did. But we never – I don’t think I really told him that. And when I did, it was too late, he – was already –”

That was the first time Keith had cried in front of Shiro, and he didn’t let him see. He cried into Shiro’s jacket, quietly. Keith had gotten good at crying so nobody else could hear. Shiro was allowed to hear, though. Shiro wouldn’t tell him he was being a baby. Shiro just kept his arm around him and said, “He knew, Keith. He knew you loved him.”

Keith didn’t stop crying, but something gave in his chest, softened. And for a moment, sitting there on the rooftop with Shiro, he remembered the sound of his dad’s laughter, floating in on an Arizona breeze through his bedroom door.

Some of his thoughts about Shiro are like this: simple, good, and Keith supposes, pure. 

Though, he thinks this is a stupid word.  _ Pure.  _ What the fuck does that mean, anyway? He barely thought about sex before he met Shiro, sure, but he was in the U.S. foster care system for six years, he’s been to juvie three times, and he knows how to use a knife, a gun, and nunchucks. 

Admittedly, he could use more work with the nunchucks; his dad just thought they were cool and had no apparent practical use for them. (They might also be illegal in the state of Arizona; then again, most weapons are legal in the state of Arizona, so he’s probably fine.)

The point is, Keith’s not pure. But he’s also not prepared for his brain to suddenly decide that Shiro is hot and Keith should do something about that.

And by “do something,” it means, “fantasize and jack off, a lot.”

Naturally, Keith feels guilty, but does it anyway. He can’t very well go to class with that. Thankfully, his roommate is out a lot. Un-thankfully, he’s not out when Keith wakes up one morning soaked in sweat, his dick tenting his pajama pants, the afterimage of Shiro’s bare chest and slated hips burnt into the backs of Keith’s eyelids.

_ “Dude,” _ his roommate says halfway through putting his orange jacket on when Keith sits up in bed with a startled, waking gasp. The thin sheets are not hiding anything. His roommate shakes his head and looks away. “You’re gonna be late to class.”

Keith rolls over, back to him, face on fire. “Sorry,” he croaks.

His roommate sighs. “I’ll tell Iverson you’re sick,” he offers, and slams the door.

Kinkade is a good roommate.

Unfortunately for both of them, Keith’s suffering does not end there. He thinks he leaves his body and learns astral projection when he gets a hand on his cock and only manages four strokes before he’s coming all over his palm, imagining his mouth on Shiro’s pretty, pretty nipples.

The dreams only get worse from there on out. They’re more vivid, detailed, like his brain is intent on devising the most realistic and torturous scenarios possible. Some of them are...really questionable. Keith has no idea where his brain, or cock, or both, is coming up with half of it.

After a particularly intense dream involving Shiro with, for some goddamn reason, purple skin, glowing yellow eyes, and fangs, Keith can’t even look at Shiro in the waking world, much less converse with him.

It’s been about two weeks of avoidance when Shiro catches him in the hallway with a friendly smile that activates Keith’s fight or flight mode. “Hey! Do you have a sec? I wanted to talk to you about this weekend, Matt wanted me to ask you if –”

“No,” Keith blurts, and Shiro’s eyes widen. “I mean – no, I don’t have a sec. I can’t talk. Gonna be – late. To class.” He books it in the opposite direction.

Shiro stares after him. “Keith, it’s  _ lunch,”  _ he calls, but doesn’t follow him.

That night while buried in homework, Keith gets a text.

_ Shiro: Everything ok?  _

Keith sends him back a thumbs up emoji and goes back to the mess that is his physics lab write-up.

_ Shiro: Can I call you or are you busy? _

_ Keith: doing hw super busy _

Shiro calls him.

Keith doesn’t have the heart to hang up on him. “Hi,” he mumbles. “What’s up?”

He can practically hear Shiro’s eyebrow raise.  _ “I think I should be asking you that, Mr. Doing Homework Super Busy. Seriously, Keith, are you good? Did I…” _ He hesitates.  _ “Did I do something?” _

Keith sucks in a sharp breath. Oh, no. “No!” Keith yelps. Kinkade gives him the side-eye from his desk and Keith lowers his voice and slips out into the hall. “No. You didn’t. Do anything. I’m just. You know.” He cringes at himself.

_ “No, I don’t know,” _ Shiro says patiently.  _ “Is something wrong?” _

“I’ve been having really bad dreams,” Keith blurts out, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. He latches onto it. “Really bad nightmares. Barely sleeping. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

There’s a beat, then Shiro says, obviously horrified,  _ “Wait, what? Keith, are the nightmares about – me?” _

Keith is a disaster. “I – I mean – well – Shiro, that’s  _ not.  _ Um.”

_ “You don’t have to talk about it,” _ Shiro says hastily.  _ “Especially not if they’re about me, but Keith, shit...I hope you know I would never, ever hurt you.” _

Keith punches the wall softly. “I know, I know,” he babbles, “they’re just dreams, and they’re not that bad, um, really, don’t worry about it –” He cuts himself off before he makes an even bigger fool of himself.

_ “Okay,” _ Shiro says uncertainly.  _ “Well...if you ever need to talk, I’m here. If not, that’s okay too. If you need space, that’s totally okay. But...well, I used to have a lot of problems with insomnia, still do, so if you want stuff to help, I have lots. Matt gave me this tea, it works really well – it might help. If you want. Okay?” _

“Okay,” Keith replies, chewing his lip. He thinks Shiro is about to hang up, and adds in a panicked rush, because he can’t leave Shiro thinking Keith can’t bear the sight of him, “I’m not – afraid of you, Shiro. That’s not it at all. The nightmares aren’t about you, um, hurting me.” A passing cadet gives him a weird look and he huddles closer against the wall. “I think they’re about you getting hurt.  _ That _ scares me. Not you, Shiro.”

The lie rolls so easily off his tongue that it takes Keith a second to realize it’s not a lie at all.

Shiro pauses.  _ “Oh,” _ he says. His voice is softer, and yes, relieved, when he adds,  _ “Well, don’t worry about that, either. I’m tougher than I look. So are you.” _

“Hmph.” Keith’s smiling, and he didn’t even mean to. This is the effect Shiro has on him. “You’re a dork.”

_ “Right back atcha,”  _ Shiro chuckles, and Keith’s smile widens. _ “So...you wanna try the tea? I think it’s like…”  _ There’s some rustling, a distant bang, and a crash. Keith winces. _ “Sorry. Got it. It’s chamomile, lavender, and valerian root, apparently. Works wonders, for me at least.” _

“Valerian root?” Keith wrinkles his nose. “That sounds like it belongs in a cauldron.”

Shiro lets out a honk of laughter.  _ “That’s what I told Matt when he gave it to me. Maybe it is a witch’s brew; it’s magical enough to be one.” _

“I’m intrigued,” Keith admits. If some tea can cure his dreams, even if they’re not exactly nightmares...well, Keith is desperate. 

_ “I can bring you some tonight,”  _ Shiro offers. 

“You don’t have to, I could just get it from you tomorrow at lunch,” Keith says hastily. 

_ “Are you sure?”  _

“Yeah, I won’t be getting much sleep tonight anyway,” Keith sighs. “I really do have a lot of homework.”

_ “Ah, sorry. Okay, tomorrow then. Goodnight, Keith. Don’t forget to stay hydrated.” _

Keith snorts. “Yeah. You too. ‘Night.” 

He hangs up, and Kinkade eyes him when he walks back into the room. “Is Shirogane selling you drugs?” he asks.

Keith splutters at him. “Uh —  _ no?” _

Kinkade arches a disbelieving eyebrow.

“He’s giving me  _ tea,”  _ Keith says weakly. “To sleep better.”

Kinkade shakes his head. “Right.” He glances at Keith again as he sits at his desk. “Drug dealing would have been too simple an explanation, huh? So what’s up with you two?”

Keith buries his face in his textbook. “What d’you mean, ‘what’s up?’”

“Well, you’re friends, right?” Kinkade shrugs. “Just weird, is all, what with half the cadets fawning over him and he hangs out with you. I mean, you do have the best scores. But it’s not just that. Is it?”

“Whatever you’re implying, don’t,” Keith warns. 

“Keith, this whole school has a crush on Shirogane,” Kinkade sighs. Keith freezes. “And you’re not subtle, even if you’re not fawning.”

A crush. He doesn’t —  _ no.  _ Does he? Keith is cold all over. “You don’t think — you don’t think he knows…?”

Kinkade snorts. “For such a smart guy he’s either super oblivious or willfully ignorant. Either way, nah. Think you’re good. But can you maybe stop saying his name in your sleep every night?”

“Oh god,” Keith wheezes, head in his hands. “Kill me.”

“Thinkin’ about it,” Kinkade mutters.

But Kinkade doesn’t kill him. They pull a near all-nighter, and when Keith does finally manage to fall asleep for a pathetic hour and a half a full physics lab write-up later, he’s too tired to be horny. 

When Shiro gives him the tea the next day at lunch, Keith is a zombie, and can barely mumble a ‘thank you’ and shove the tea bags into his backpack. Shiro looks him over. “Wow, Keith, you look like shit.”

Keith flips him off weakly. “Homework,” he grunts.

“Did you at least finish it?” Keith nods dully, and privately he decides all those hours of painstaking work were worth it for Shiro’s proud grin and high five. “Hell yeah you did. Now get some sleep tonight, yeah?”

Keith does get some sleep that night. In fact, after drinking the tea, he finds himself drifting off almost instantly, and the next thing he knows, he’s in the deepest sleep he can ever remember having. 

It’s also the most intense, most vivid dream he’s ever had.

Most of the dreams are in fairly normal places – beds, couches, walls, sometimes bathrooms. But this – Keith has no idea where he is, except that it looks like a cockpit, but bigger and darker, and the windows look out upon the vastness of space. Keith is sitting in what must be the pilot’s seat, but it’s warm, yielding, and when he shifts and tries to look around, he meets Shiro’s eyes. His irises glow an eerie gold in the darkness, and before Keith can say a word, Shiro’s hands close around his waist, pinning Keith in his lap. 

Keith can’t speak when Shiro’s mouth finds his shoulder, teeth digging in and fingers peeling back the tight black fabric they’re both clothed in – some kind of undersuit, but not like anything Keith’s felt before, alien in its strength and softness. Shiro’s fingers feel alien, too – they’re metal, gleaming. Keith squirms, confused and concerned by this.

“Your hand,” he whispers, biting his lip hard when Shiro’s left hand, still flesh and bone, slides down his front and between his parted thighs. Keith shudders up into the touch and Shiro chuckles, still mouthing his shoulder and neck, still silent. “Shiro, what happened to your hand?” Keith asks again, louder.

Shiro’s grip on him tightens and he growls low and wordless against Keith’s throat. His right hand, the metal one, yanks on the hem of Keith’s undersuit until the fabric rips, exposing his chest. His teeth feel sharper, meaner. He covers Keith’s chest with his metal hand, rubbing at Keith’s nipples, his palm warming to an almost unbearable heat.

From beneath the control panel in front of Keith, a shadow moves, and another pair of eyes gleam – silver, not gold. Heart in his throat, Keith stares as the shadow crawls towards him. He could barely see Shiro’s face behind him, but a faint illumination like moonlight falls over the approaching figure, and Keith’s body stiffens, toes curling and breath shallowing. 

It’s another Shiro. His hair is silver like his eyes and there’s a faded, jagged scar across the bridge of his nose, and he’s _ bigger, _ heavily muscled and scarred all over. He’s not wearing a black undersuit. He’s not wearing anything. He kneels between Keith’s legs, his expression pleading, lips parted. He’s missing an arm, too, but there’s no metal replacement. Keith reaches out to him, shaky, dazed, and the other Shiro leans his cheek into Keith’s palm with a soft sound.

“What happened to you?” Keith repeats, asking them both, genuine fear churning alongside his building arousal. “Who did this to you?”

The Shiro behind him laughs and squeezes his cock; Keith can feel the growing bulge under him, nestled up against his ass, and can’t help but grind back into it, though the dreams have never gone that far. Hands, mouth, yes, but not…

His thoughts fizzle into nothing when Silver Shiro nuzzles into his crotch, nosing at the tenting fabric and dragging his tongue over it in long, broad, wet strokes. “Missed you,” he whispers, and the words settle hot and heavy in Keith’s core. He peels the fabric away from Keith’s cock, rubbing his cheek against it and closing his lips around the tip, suckling sweet and languid. 

Behind him, the other Shiro scoffs and grinds up against him, biting at his neck and earlobe, grabbing a handful of Keith’s hair – _ his hair is longer, strange _ – and yanking his head back with unexpected ferocity. Keith yelps, clinging to the seat, to Shiro, and suddenly the undersuits are gone entirely, and there’s bare skin under him. 

His cock is sheathed in the warm wet velvet of Silver Shiro’s mouth, and the other’s soft, pleased moans vibrate through him, pulsing with urgency as Shiro’s tongue drags over his twitching cock, relentless, yet so tender, almost familiar, like they’ve done this before. 

“He’s going to leave you,” the Shiro at his back says, sharp and smug. Keith’s eyes dart to him, a moan spilling past his lips as a metal hand squeezes his ass, spreads him wide. “Or are you going to leave him…?”

“I wouldn’t,” Keith gasps, struggling against him, but not because he wants to get away. “Shiro wouldn’t –”

“Silly boy,” Shiro coos, pinching his ass and pressing a cool, slick metal finger against his hole, teasing but firm, a threat that feels more like a promise. “Everyone leaves you.”

Keith’s eyes sting with tears and he turns his face away. “Shut up. Shut up.”

The other Shiro sucks his cock harder, his eyes flaring ever brighter as he looks up at Keith. The first Shiro pets his hip, brushes the tears from his face and kisses where they fall like he’s hungry for them. “But we didn’t want to leave,” Shiro murmurs, the yellow glow fading. “I always wanted to come back, Keith. For you.”

Keith opens his eyes to warm sunshine falling across his face, the cold cockpit and its two Shiros gone, though he is as hard and wanting as before. Kinkade is gone, but Keith still folds onto his side, shoves a pillow against his middle, and curls around it, rutting to completion as quietly as possible, stifling what he refuses to admit is a sob in his pillow as he comes.

At lunch that day, he walks half in a trance to Shiro’s table, only to stop short at the sight of the guy sitting next to Shiro,  _ in Keith’s spot. _ He’s vaguely familiar – another junior officer, brown skin and hair, glasses. Serious looking. Too serious for Shiro. Keith doesn’t realize he’s standing there and staring until Shiro notices him and shifts subtly away from the new guy, smiling hesitantly. “Keith, hey,” he says. “Uh, right, this is Adam.”

Matt, sitting across from them, gives Keith a meaningful look over his glasses and stabs a forkful of macaroni. Keith waffles for a moment, then slinks over to sit down next to Matt, his gut twisting.

Adam glances at Shiro. “The infamous Keith,” he says, and chuckles. Keith eyes him. He doesn’t know Adam well enough for him to be chuckling yet. Adam extends a hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Keith takes his hand and shakes it once, quick. “Finally?” If it sounds like a demand, well, fine, it is. 

Shiro coughs, having the decency to look a bit abashed. “We met awhile ago, he’s just usually in the labs around lunchtime...and all the time.”

“He’s a busy guy,” Matt says around his mouthful of macaroni. 

“Birds of a feather, as they say,” Adam chuckles, and nudges Shiro with his elbow. Keith watches with narrowed eyes. Shiro grins at Adam and nudges him back. Huh. _ Huh. _

“Who says that?” Keith demands.

Shiro’s grin falls. Adam raises an eyebrow. “It’s a saying. You know, an idiom.”

“An  _ idiom,”  _ Keith repeats. “If you say so.”

Shiro gives him a weird look and Keith hunches down in his seat. “You okay, Keith? Did the tea work?”

“What tea?” Adam asks.

Keith resists the urge to snap that it’s none of his business, but he thinks Shiro reads something in his expression regardless, because he shakes his head and says, “Oh, just some calming tea to help with stress. You remember how bad this time of year is in cadet courses.”

Adam gives Keith a sympathetic nod. “Oh, sure, I remember. It’s like suddenly even the nice teachers become hardasses.”

“Maybe they need some tea, too,” Keith mutters under his breath.

Shiro laughs. Adam keeps looking at him. Keith folds his arms. “So, how did you and Shiro meet?” Adam asks.

“How did  _ you _ and Shiro meet?” Keith retorts.

Matt chokes quietly on his macaroni. Shiro blinks. Adam clears his throat and says, “We were lab partners in organic chemistry last year, before we graduated from the cadet program.”

_ “Organic chemistry,”  _ Keith echoes. He hates organic chemistry.

Oblivious, Shiro smiles and squeezes Adam’s shoulder. Keith and Adam both stare at his hand. Shiro doesn’t notice. “Yeah! Adam loves chemistry. He loves flying, too, but, well…”

Adam squeezes Shiro’s shoulder and Keith grits his teeth, bouncing his leg under the table. “Shiro here is a lot more into the space aspect of it, but I’m just fine down here on Earth. No need to fly across the galaxy when there’s so many fascinating things all around us.”

“You don’t think space is cool?” Keith demands.

Adam’s mouth twitches. “Space is very cool.” He glances over. “So is Shiro.”

Keith folds his arms. “Are you kidding? Shiro is a giant nerd.”

_ “Keith!”  _ Shiro splutters, genuine panic in his eyes. Matt snickers into his bowl and gives Keith a fist bump under the table. 

“What?” Keith huffs. “It’s true.”

“Can confirm,” Matt adds. “Biggest nerd ever.”

Shiro glares at them both. Adam chuckles. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “birds of a feather. Have you seen me? Clearly not a jock.”

“Shiro’s way more of a jock than you,” Keith agrees.

Shiro rubs his temples.  _ “Keith. _ Oh my god. Stop.”

“Huh, I can see it,” Adam muses, smile slowly spreading across his face as he eyes Shiro. “He’s...versatile.”

“Wow,” Matt mutters.

_ “Adam,” _ Shiro hisses.

“Hm?” Adam says.

“What?” Keith asks, sure he’s missing something, here.

Shiro is bright red. “Okay,” he exclaims, “good talk! Goodbye! Glad you liked the tea, Keith!”

“See you, Takashi,” Adam says with a wave.

_ “Takashi,” _ Keith repeats, under his breath.

“I need new friends,” Matt says to himself.

Keith ends up leaving lunch early and texting Shiro as he meanders over to his next class.

_ Keith: u good? _

_ Shiro: Haha. Yes, all good _

_ Keith: was adam making fun of you? _

_ Shiro: No, no – just a stupid inside joke _

_ Keith: oh ok _

_ Shiro: Do you like him? _

_ Keith: ? _

_ Shiro: What do you think about Adam, honestly? _

_ Keith: he’s your friend why does it matter what i think _

_ Shiro: You’re my friend, too. It matters to me  _

_ Keith: i think… _

Keith hesitates, fingers hovering over the screen. What  _ does _ he think of Adam? On a petty but visceral level, Keith thinks he’s competition. On a more logical and human level, Keith knows he’s being ridiculous. If Adam likes Shiro, then what is Keith going to do about it? 

He probably  _ could _ turn Shiro against Adam, lie and tell Shiro he thinks Adam is up to no good. He thinks Shiro might actually listen to him. Might believe his word over Adam’s. 

But the thought of doing that makes his gut twist unpleasantly. He has no right, no claim, to Shiro. And Shiro doesn’t see him like that...like in the dream. There’s a reason it was a dream, even if it felt real...Keith shakes himself, and frowns. 

If Shiro is asking his opinion on Adam, that means he probably cares about Adam. Probably wants to spend more time with Adam...and less time with Keith. 

But that’s...okay. Thinking back, Shiro had been happy, at lunch. Embarrassed by the end of it, yes, but he had smiled. Laughed, even. And the smile he uses with Adam is his genuine one. Keith exhales. Shiro is his friend, and friends are honest. Friends want each other to be happy. These are things Shiro has taught him.

_ Keith: i think he makes you smile a lot _

_ Shiro: His sense of humor is a little dry, huh? _

_ Keith: sure, but you like it. don’t you? _

_ Shiro: I do. But you didn’t answer the question  _

Keith doesn’t know how to answer it. He knows next to nothing about Adam. He only knows that Shiro seems to like him...and that may be all he needs to know to judge Adam’s character.

_ Keith: i think he’s a good guy. _

Shiro doesn’t reply for a while. Keith nibbles his cuticles in the interim, looking out the window as he passes by. The sky is streaked with clouds, brilliant turquoise in the desert afternoon. The sunset will be beautiful tonight. Who will Shiro spend it with?

_ Shiro: Thank you, Keith :) _

Keith can’t help but smile down at his phone. 

_ Keith: he seems like a good friend. _

_ Shiro: He is. _

Keith doesn’t reply. He’s thinking of the dream again, of the warning. _He’s going to leave you._ And Shiro’s arm, and the other him with silver hair...none of it makes sense.

He’s not sure he can blame that on puberty, just as he isn’t sure he can blame simple puberty for the overwhelming, almost frightening attachment he has begun to feel, more and more every day, towards Shiro.

Keith wonders if these feelings and dreams have anything to do with the symbol on the knife he keeps wrapped up under his starched white pillow. After class that day, he waits until Kinkade goes out to unwrap the knife and run his fingertips over the glowing violet symbol in its hilt. 

The light casts his pale skin in a purple glow. Under his skin, something prickles, pushes to be released against his rib cage. Deep in his belly, he aches for a single touch, the only touch besides his father’s that he has gladly welcomed, and the only touch in the world he has ever wanted like this, everywhere, always.

Keith tells himself it’s growing pains, but he keeps tracing the symbol a while longer.

*

He doesn’t ride out to the sunset with Shiro for what feels like a long time. 

Shiro spends more time with Adam. It’s okay. Keith likes Matt, and he hangs out with Kinkade sometimes, though never with Kinkade’s friends. The other cadets don’t like Keith and aren’t subtle about it. That’s okay. Keith isn’t here to be liked. 

He’s here to fly. With Shiro.

But he doesn’t fly. He does simulation after simulation. The stars at night feel like they’re mocking him after a while, so close yet so far. Keith’s the best. He knows he’s the best. But they won’t let him fly. They have rules and regulations to follow. 

Meanwhile, Keith gets antsy. Impatient. Reckless. The dreams keep coming while Shiro and the stars remain at a mocking distance. It was only a matter of time before Keith snapped.

He’s not proud of getting into fights, okay? Truth be told, he wishes he didn’t get into so many. But he swears some people get off on pushing his buttons just a little too hard. They don’t have to push that much to set him off – he’s not proud of that, either.

James is the worst of them. He’s got a nasty temper too, and a nastier mouth. Keith wonders if they ever could have been friends before he punches James in the jaw as hard as he can. 

He knocks out one of James’ teeth. James gives him a black eye. Keith breaks some ribs for good measure. It’s one of the worst fights he’s gotten into, but it was prompted by one of the worst insults. 

Worse, because it’s true. Keith is a nobody, with no parents, and no prospects. Scrub away all his shiny sim scores, and he’s got nothing. Keith knows that. That’s why he fights so hard to keep those sim scores, to keep his pride, because he  _ knows _ he’s better than them at one fucking thing. He has to know that, or he’ll stop trying. 

He ran from the fight, after. He’s not proud of that, either. He wonders if this will finally be the breaking point – for him, for the Garrison, for Shiro. Someday, Shiro is gonna snap. Someday he’s gonna tell Keith he wasted his time trying to help him, and someday he’s gonna leave, like everyone does, and Keith will be back to square one. Alone, angry at the world, futureless. Those sim scores won’t mean shit when he’s back in the system.

That’s how Keith finds himself slumped against the cold tiles of an empty shower, palms pressed to his bloodied, bruised face. He ran to the junior officers’ showers because they’re a better hiding place – none of the cadets will find him there. He’s not allowed there, strictly speaking, but Shiro isn’t strict. Keith’s been here before, not often, but enough to know the keypad code and which shower always runs cold. He hides in that one.

At first, he doesn’t notice the sound of the other shower running. Blood roars in his ears too loudly to hear anything else. But the longer he sits there, cold water seeping slowly through his uniform, the more aware he becomes of the other person’s presence. 

They’re not far away, he thinks. Steam drifts into Keith’s stall from the gap between partition and the tile, and Keith inhales the smell of shampoo and soap, a familiar smell. His eyes widen as the person showering starts to sing-mumble a song, some stupid song they play too much on the radio – but Keith doesn’t care about the song. He cares about the voice.  _ Shiro.  _

He shouldn’t look. But he also shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have gotten into that fight. Keith’s not good at doing what he  _ should. _

He looks through the crack between wall and partition. It’s just wide enough to see a shadow moving against the wall a stall down, where the water is on, and Shiro is singing. Keith swallows as Shiro steps to the side, closer to the wall, into view. He shouldn’t look at Shiro’s bare back, where muscle flexes under wet skin, soap suds dripping down the dip between his shoulder blades, down where his waist narrows, down over the firm curve of his ass. Keith covers his mouth, hard so fast he’s dizzy. 

Objectively, he knew Shiro would have a nice ass. His gym shorts don’t leave much up to the imagination. But seeing it is different. Keith’s breath quickens, curling in on himself as Shiro stretches luxuriously under the spray, slicking his hair back and leaning down to grab something. 

His weight shifts, his thighs part, and Keith catches a glimpse of thick dark hair, dusk-pink skin between. Keith stifles his whimper in his fist, his dick trapped in his slacks, jammed tight between his shaking thighs and taut belly. He needs to leave, but he can’t move. Doesn’t  _ want _ to move, especially when Shiro turns, leaning against the wall with a sigh and wrapping his hand around his dick. 

Keith doesn’t choke on air, but it’s a near thing. Instead, all the breath leaves his body. He feels like he’s been punched, but in the best way. Being punched doesn’t make his dick throb in his slacks and his skin prickle and flush with want. Is this a normal reaction? He has no idea. Shiro’s jacking off less than ten feet away, and Keith is watching – it’s not a normal situation. If he wasn’t a bad kid before, he thinks this probably seals the deal. This isn’t just bad, it’s creepy. 

Still, he can’t look away from the way Shiro touches himself, the way his wet lips part on a pleased sigh as his thumb slides over the dark crown of his cock, rubbing the foreskin over it and tipping his head back with a low moan. Shiro isn’t bothering to be quiet, and Keith’s beginning to think he chose this time to shower specifically to do this. Alone. Without any cadets spying on him, ideally. 

But Keith’s not just any cadet.

The thought is –  _ weird. _ It’s even weirder that it makes Keith squirm, toes curling in his boots and hand that isn’t covering his mouth shoving between his legs and cupping his dick. He never thought he particularly  _ wanted  _ to be in Shiro’s good graces. He doesn’t  _ try  _ to be Shiro’s favorite cadet. He doesn’t care about that. But the more he thinks about it, the more the thought settles into his mind, into his churning stomach, into his thickening cock. He’s Shiro’s favorite. Nobody else. It’s a selfish thought. Keith burns for it. 

Shiro groans, hand moving faster on his cock, so Keith can see more of it. He has a big cock. Keith figured he would. The sky is blue, the world is unfair, Takashi Shirogane has a big dick. So it goes. But it’s also a pretty dick. Pretty like his nipples, dark and peaked, hard under the running water. Shiro’s chest arches up when he tugs on his cock just right and Keith increases the pressure of his own palm, afraid to touch himself skin to skin, afraid he’ll shout when he comes. Afraid Shiro might find him, punish him for watching – 

_ Fuck.  _ Bad thought, bad thought. At least, it  _ should _ be. But Keith’s cock twitches in his slacks, not getting the message about boundaries and age differences. Not that Shiro is  _ that  _ much older. He’s – what, twenty-two, twenty-three? Keith bites his lip until it bleeds. 

He’s barely seventeen, as of last week. Shiro knew the day, somehow. Probably looked at his file. He gave Keith a ride out to the cliffs, the first since the day Keith met Adam, and took him to the diner on the outskirts of town. They ate ice cream together. Keith remembers how Shiro’s lips looked all covered in vanilla. Sticky.

He wonders what his file says. Probably nothing good. But Shiro treats him like he is. Keith wants that. He  _ wants _ to be good for Shiro.

Keith bangs his head against the wall and comes right there in his slacks, without even getting a hand on his dick. He doesn’t shout, but he sure ain’t silent, either. The noise he makes is somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. It’s not attractive. It makes Shiro freeze, eyes blinking open and hand falling from his cock like it shocked him.

Keith is on his feet and out of the showers before Shiro can even open the curtain. He takes a long, cold shower in the cadets’ area, scrubbing his skin until it’s raw and pink. He ignores his messy dick until he remembers how Shiro’s looked, imagines how heavy and hot it would feel on his tongue, and Keith’s dick starts plumping up again, at which point Keith jacks off with a vengeance and bites his bruised knuckles so hard they bleed at the thought of what Shiro would have done if he’d found Keith in there.

Later, when he’s toweling himself off, he frowns at the lockers thoughtfully. If Shiro had found Keith in there, he wouldn’t have done  _ anything _ – and Keith knows that. It wouldn’t have been sexy at all if Shiro found him, in reality. It would have been incredibly awkward, utterly mortifying, and by all accounts Not Great. 

But it’s  _ fun _ to...imagine. Keith considers this. Shiro has never been anything but platonic and respectful with him. If he hadn’t been, Keith wouldn’t trust him to be in these fantasies where he  _ isn’t _ like that. It’s a strange paradox, but it makes him feel a little better. Real Shiro is safe, so Fantasy Shiro can be as bad as Keith wants him to be.

Still, fantasizing is one thing. Actually watching is another. He swears then and there that he won’t do it again – on purpose, at least.

But if Keith regrets doing it, it’s for Shiro’s sake, not his own. He takes what he wants from life...and who knows when Shiro will leave his?

*

That night, he sits on the Garrison roof with an ice pack and his dick at a stubborn semi, contemplating the pros and cons of running off into the desert until the javelinas find him. He’s debating if he has an alien sex disease or if human puberty really is just this terrible when Shiro texts him.

(He has a missed call from Matt and several texts from Kinkade, but he’s ignoring those.)

Keith peers at his screen with dull dread.

_ Shiro: Hey. Iverson wants to talk w you.  _

Keith worries his lip between his teeth. 

_ Shiro: Now _

_ Shiro: I know you’re on the roof, pls don’t make me come & get you _

Keith would rather face a herd of angry javelinas than face Shiro on the Garrison rooftop right now. Besides, the one thing guaranteed to kill a boner is a talk with Iverson. Keith sighs. He looks up at the stars before climbing down – it’s a good view of them up here, and Keith is afraid tonight might be the last time he sees them. So much for flying to them. His chest clenches. It’s his fault. 

_ Keith: ok be there soon _

He heads down the ladder. When he gets to the bottom, his phone lights up.

_ Shiro: Let me know if you need anything? _

Keith stares at the message, guilt rising bitter and uncertain anew, then shoves his phone into his pocket. 

*

Iverson gives him a stern talking-to. James sits next to Keith, quiet and smug – he knows how to play the part of teacher’s pet when he needs to. Keith can’t do that. He glares at the floor, black eye stinging, blood still encrusted under it where it hurt too much to scrub away. His one victory is that James’ face is swollen and red where Keith hit him, and when he stands, he walks slower and off-balance. 

Iverson doesn’t see it as a victory. He sees it as a ‘final warning.’ After James leaves, Iverson adds that the only reason Keith still has a chance in the cadet program is because Shiro keeps vouching for him. Keith hears it all like static from the car radio in the middle of the desert, rising and falling, disappointing white noise. He’s heard it before. He’ll probably hear it again.

“Dismissed, cadet,” Iverson sighs, his eyes saying he knows Keith wasn’t listening to a word. Keith wants to say he’s sorry, but he’s bad at apologies, and he doesn’t think Iverson would believe him anyway.

Shiro is waiting for him outside. Keith can’t look at him, so he looks at his shoes. The cut under his black eye has decided to start bleeding again, and drips onto the white floor in a pathetic red splat. Shiro makes a soft sound. “Keith, you should get that checked out.”

“I’m not going to the infirmary.”

Shiro is quiet. Keith braces himself. Well, at least he got to see Shiro’s dick before Shiro drives him back to the home for troubled kids who can’t be pilots, can’t be nice, and can’t live up to expectations.

“C’mon, then,” Shiro murmurs, and Keith chances a look up, needs to know if Shiro is angry or disappointed. But he just looks sad. He offers Keith a small smile. “I can fix that up for you, or at least make it stop bleeding.”

“That’s it?” Keith demands.

Shiro blinks. “What do you mean?”

“You should be kicking me out,” Keith snaps. “I know how ‘three strikes’ works, and this is more than three, Shiro.”

“Do you want to leave?” Shiro asks, point-blank.

Keith swallows. “No,” he admits, and has to look away again.

Shiro exhales. “Okay. Then you’re not leaving.”

Keith follows him numbly through the darkening halls. It’s a clear night; he can see the stars through the wide windows before they enter the dormitory areas. Keith doesn’t protest when Shiro brings him to his dorm – he doesn’t want to go back to his own, because Kinkade is nice enough but he’s friends with James, like most people are.

Shiro’s dorm is nicer, anyway. Keith sits on the overstuffed sofa Shiro and Matt dragged in from the dump a year or so ago. It smells like Febreeze, and Keith sneezes. Shiro shoots him a _ bless you! _ from the bathroom. Nerd. Keith’s favorite nerd.

He wrings his hands in his lap. Bad thought. But it doesn’t feel bad, or dirty. It feels true. 

“Okay, so,” Shiro says as he comes back into the room, changed out of his uniform, “I’ve got disinfectant, gauze, Neosporin, bandaids, and uhh...vodka?” Keith raises an eyebrow. “Nevermind. That was in some movie. Looked painful, though. You don’t need stitches, do you? I’m not great at sewing.”

Keith scrunches up his nose. “I think I’m okay.”

“Whew.” Shiro sits down next to him on the couch and without warning, touches his face, carefully cleaning the cut with a damp washcloth. Keith jerks away in surprise, eyes wide. Shiro looks at him, abashed, and leans away, washcloth lowering. “Sorry,” he says uncertainly, “did that hurt?”

Keith gestures a little frantically to all the medical supplies and the washcloth in Shiro’s hand. “You don’t need to – do this. For me. Really, it’s...I got it.”

“Oh.” Shiro looks down, and frowns, almost a pout. “If you’re sure. But it’s really no problem, Keith –”

“No, I’ll do it,” Keith interrupts, and grabs the washcloth and supplies from him, hurrying into the bathroom. “Thanks,” he manages before slamming the door behind him. 

He braces himself against the sink, a lump in his throat. His eyes sting worse than the cut. He’s...crying. What the fuck. He wipes at his eyes and promptly reopens the cut. Shiro knocks on the door, and when Keith doesn’t open it, he does, standing there aghast as Keith’s face pours blood into Shiro’s pristine white sink.

“Oh my god, give me that,” Shiro exclaims, half exasperation half concern, and grabs the gauze from Keith’s fumbling hands, grumbling at him to stay still while he presses gauze pads to the cut until it finally stops bleeding. Keith stays so still he hardly breathes. There are still tears drying on his face. Shiro doesn’t say anything about them, but he does wipe them away with the gauze that isn’t thoroughly bloodied. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispers when Shiro is taping down some clean gauze, meticulously arranging it so that the worst of the wound is covered. 

Shiro glances up at him. “I know,” he says.

It’s Keith’s turn to be the exasperated one. “You know? How? Just a  _ feeling,  _ again?”

He’s being mean and he doesn’t want to be. It’s a defense mechanism. A bad one. Shiro doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t deserve him.

But Shiro doesn’t flinch. “How did the fight start, Keith?”

Keith flinches, then. “He started it,” he mutters. Shiro waits. “He said...stupid shit, about my parents. My family. Mostly that I don’t have any. That I don’t belong here. That I’ll never belong here.”

Shiro’s eyes are cool, steely, and in a terrifying instant, Keith realizes that if Shiro agreed with James, if he said what all the others are thinking, it would break him. He wouldn’t know what to do, where to go. Keith has tried to prepare himself for this, for the leaving, for the failure, but he realizes then that he can’t possibly prepare himself for Shiro doing that. He waits, tense and hurt, for Shiro’s reply.

But Shiro doesn’t say anything. He hugs him. It’s gentle, careful, but secure. Keith stands motionless, uninjured cheek pressed to Shiro’s cotton T-shirt. He’s not a hugger. The only person who ever hugged him, that he can remember, is his dad. There’s a lot to unpack there, maybe. Keith doesn’t want to unpack it. He just wants to be held. By Shiro. Only by Shiro.

It’s a weird thought, but of all the weird thoughts he’s had today, it’s one of the better ones. He leans into Shiro a little, and feels Shiro’s breath warm against his forehead, ruffling his hair. “You belong here,” Shiro tells him. “They don’t get to decide that for you. You decide that.”

“And if –” Keith closes his eyes. “If I’ve decided I don’t?”

“I don’t think you’ve decided that,” Shiro counters. “Have you? Or is that them making the choice for you?”

Keith listens to Shiro’s heartbeat. It’s calming, even if it seems faster than it should be. He lets himself drift, the way he hasn’t let himself do for a long time. He doesn’t feel safe to let his thoughts wander like this most of the time, here. He always has to be on guard. But in Shiro’s arms, he knows it’s okay. 

So his mind wanders, paints a scene, a hope, a dream that might just come true. Keith is wearing an officer’s uniform, and so is Shiro. They’re walking towards the tarmac, jets waiting in sleek silver beauty, all theirs. Shiro turns to smile at him. His eyes shine as bright as the jets. He’s beautiful. Keith wants to kiss him, so he does, and Shiro kisses him back. It’s simple. It’s good. It’s belonging. 

“I want to belong,” Keith whispers, eyes opening. 

Shiro takes a step back, but doesn’t let go of him, and Keith is glad for the anchor. He never knew someone’s touch could do that. 

“Then you will,” Shiro promises. His thumb brushes the edge of the gauze, falls away. His expression is fond. Not the fond that Keith feels, but that’s okay. There are lots of ways to belong with someone. And maybe someday, Shiro will want him back. But maybe not. 

As long as Shiro’s there, Keith knows things will turn out okay, in the end.


End file.
